Tuesday, August 31, 2010

I am at work, and on so few hours of sleep that every few minutes my eyes just gently drift shut. And I'm running on tired-logic: when you tell yourself that it makes sense to keep your eyes shut unless you hear the clacking of heels in the hallway. This is the kind of logic that ends up with me not impressing my boss. I am wondering if I can get away with sneaking out early and going to nap for a few hours before meeting Hill to work on that paper together. Probably not.

There is something really satisfying about skinning your knee at my age. "I was wrestling with Yeller on the roof and skinned my knee on some asphalt". I seem to have accumulated quite a few scrapes and cuts, more than usual even for me. Burned my arm on the iron. Cut on my thigh, also from the iron. Blisters on my ankle (sandals and sweat) and a bruised wrist (also from wrestling). And my red, weepy puffy eye: perfect for grossing people out.

What I'd really like to do is shave my head and wear hiking boots forever.


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